A Dragon Age Christmas Carol
by Sarah1281
Summary: The year is 9:29 and Howe is on the cusp of deciding to massacre the Couslands when he's visited by four spirits. Can they change his mind on the matter? If they can, just how will they manage to convince him and how 'changed' can he possibly end up?


A Dragon Age Christmas Carol

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or A Christmas Carol.

With the close of the twenty-ninth year of the Dragon Age, Arl Rendon Howe was faced with a difficult decision. He had just come into possession of some very interesting information that, if properly skewed, could make the Couslands of Highever appear to be involved in Orlesian treachery. He knew that Teyrn Loghain had just decided to confront his idiot son-in-law about his refusal to admit that the Orlesian occupation had ever happened or that it might be at all relevant to the present and that he was looking for ways to undercut Cailan's support so that he would be more amenable to listen to reason.

He knew that he deserved more, had _always_ deserved more. He had fought well and bravely in the rebellion like the rest but somehow his grandfather's decision to side with the Orlesians still hung over his head and he was being forever held back. This might not have been so galling if it weren't for the fact that Bryce Cousland had profited everywhere that Howe had not. Howe was – for one reason or another – not the kind of person that made friends easily whereas Bryce didn't even have to try to make everyone love him. Even Howe loved him against his will and that only infuriated him more. Howe had married Lady Riane Sighard who had despised him – and he her – and whose family never thought he was good enough. So what if he were an Arl while she was the second child of the Dragon's Peak Bannorn? His family hadn't joined up with the rebellion soon enough and so they were no good. Bryce, of course, had gotten to marry the lovely Eleanor Bryland of South Reach and it was painfully obvious how in love the pair were. Howe's children were the far too idealistic Nathaniel, the practical but unremarkable Delilah, and the flighty dreamer Thomas. Bryce's children, Fergus and Anastasia, were both very good-looking, very smart, very determined, and capable fighters. Though Howe sometimes felt that Bryce and Eleanor were quite unaware that they had a daughter instead of two sons, they were fine children. In fact, Fergus had married some Antiva noblewoman and had a precocious little brat of his own! Howe sometimes wondered if he would die grandchild-less.

And so that was the crux of his dilemma. If, for whatever reason, the entire ruling family of Highever were to be suddenly wiped out then the Howe family would take over, much like the Couslands had only risen to the ranks of the nobility once the Elstan family had been extinguished. Before that, the first Lord Cousland was the captain of Elstan's guards. The Howes had been noble for long before that and yet the Couslands just kept rising in prominence. They had wanted Bryce to be the king four years ago when Maric had vanished but Bryce, ardent royalist that he was, _turned down the position_. Howe simply couldn't understand that and resented the fact that he would never be asked to be king. He had so much to gain by wiping out the Couslands and at last they would cease to hold him back! On the other hand…he and Bryce had been old friends since the rebellion and the bonds forged in war were not easily broken. It wasn't that he even disliked Bryce for all that he strongly resented him and he had always been fond of Eleanor as well. Fergus was the kind of son he wished Nathaniel or Thomas could be and even Anastasia – for all that she should have been a boy – was always very pleasant to him.

What to do, what to do…the plan had slowly formed in his mind. There were a few letters he would need to write to set his plan into motion and it would take some weeks or even months to pull it off and to get away with it but he knew that he could do it. The question was…did he want to? He honestly wasn't sure and his indecision only served to frustrated him more.

Howe through his quill across his desk and stood up. He'd sleep on it and decide whether to write those letters or not come morning.

Varel came in then. Howe couldn't stand the sight of the man and it was obvious that the feeling was mutual. Varel had once been his seneschal but he wouldn't stop questioning Howe's orders so he had had little choice but to keep demoting the fool. He briefly wondered what rank Varel was at now but it eluded him.

"You have a letter, my lord," Varel said smoothly. A consummate professional, he didn't let his voice or his face betray any of the hostility that Howe just knew was there. "And you still have not responded to the Cousland's annual invitation to have Christmas dinner at Highever."

Right, he hadn't since he had been rather preoccupied in trying to decide whether he was plotting their imminent demise and was trying to keep his contact with them to a minimum until he had made up his mind for fear of giving something away.

Howe sighed in annoyance and quickly jotted off a polite letter declining the invitation and sealing it with his family ring. He held it out for Varel to take and the once-seneschal replaced it with the new letter.

"That will be all," Howe said. He recognized his eldest's son's writing on the letter and wanted to be left alone to read it.

Varel hesitated. "My lord, we haven't discussed tomorrow yet."

Howe glanced over at him in irritation. "What is there to discuss? Attend to me at your usual time."

"But…" Varel trailed off. He started again, "Tomorrow is Christmas, my lord."

"Is it?" Howe deadpanned. "I do so wonder how I could have missed that."

"It's customary to give non-essential staff the day off and as most lords and ladies take the day off themselves, I was hoping that I could take the day off as well," Varel told him.

Howe considered the matter. On the one hand, he didn't like Varel no matter how efficient he was and so he would rather not do anything to please him. On the other, he didn't like Varel and would love to not have to see him. "Very well but I'm taking it out of your salary. Do make a note of that before you leave, will you?" Since Varel was the one to worry about the staff's salary, Howe might want to check it over later to make sure that Varel really had reduced his own pay like Howe had bid him to.

"Yes, my lord," Varel said, bowing his head before turning to go.

Once he was safely gone, Howe opened his son's letter.

_Dear Father, _

_I've been hard at work these past few months just as I have been for every month since I came to the Free Marches. I know that a common concern is that once sent out of the country, a young man will do nothing but drink and chase skirts but I assure you that I have diligently refrained and instead honed my skills. I've become a very good archer, I believe, and have numerous other talents that will be sure to come in handy. _

_That said, I was wondering if you had a return date in mind for me. Make no mistake, I am not complaining about this opportunity nor am I trying to pressure you, I just believe that it would be useful to get a better idea of what my future holds. _

_-Nathaniel_

Howe snorted. Nathaniel wasn't fooling him one bit. He wanted to return to Ferelden and he wanted to do it soon but he knew better than openly ask to be given leave to return home. Truth be told, Howe had been seriously considering it as of late. Thomas was turning out to be a disappointment and he'd need an heir at some point. It had been years since he had last seen Nathaniel; surely the boy had grown out of some of that ridiculous idealism. The only problem was the Couslands. Nathaniel had always adored them, particularly Fergus who he had been close with before he left for the Free Marches. Having Nathaniel around should he decide to have the Couslands all killed would be an unneeded complication and so his son's return would have to be put off until he decided what to do about that situation and – should he kill them – until the inevitable scandal had died down.

He set aside the letter resolving to answer it properly in the morning when he had the energy to draft a reply denying Nathaniel's unspoken request while still not alienating the boy in case he needed him later. As there was nothing else pressing he needed to do that night, Howe stood and made his way slowly to his master bedroom.

A few servants were still out and about but they weren't seeking his attention and so he felt free to ignore them. Upon reaching his room, he was in for a surprise.

Riane sat stiffly on his bed and frowning at him, a sight he had seen far too many times back when she had still been alive. Her long dark hair was pulled behind her in that silly style that had been popular with the noblewomen in the years before her death and she was even paler than she'd been the last time he had seen her.

"Talk about déjà vu," he murmured. He blinked. The image of his dead wife was still there.

"You're late," Riane said severely.

"I wasn't aware that I had an appointment to meet my dead wife here," Howe said calmly, wondering when exactly he had been drugged and who he should fire for it. Probably Varel.

"I know that look," Riane said severely. "And you haven't been drugged."

"You _do_ realize that given that I'm convinced that you're a hallucination, I can't really take your word that I haven't been drugged," Howe told her.

"Well, if I'm the only one here so no one else can try and confirm or deny my existence and I'm either real or you're having several different types of hallucinations then we've reached an impasse. This would go far quicker if you just played along," Riane advised.

"The less time spent with _you_ the better," Howe agreed. "So fine, I'll play along…within reason. The minute I hear any nonsense about how if I touch your hand I can fly and so am asked to leap out the window, I'm done."

Riane frowned. "I may need to speak to someone about that…"

Howe decided to ignore that, particularly since it contained an implication that she was changing the plan. "So if you're not a hallucination brought on by Varel drugging me then what do you propose to be? A ghost?"

Riane nodded. "Exactly."

"The fact that your explanation for what you are is the same as my first thought after 'hallucination' does not do anything to assure me that you are as you say," Howe informed her.

"It doesn't matter if you believe in me or not," Riane said crossly. "You'll see soon enough. I suppose I should just be grateful that you don't think that I'm a bit of undigested meat or some gravy."

"I find it much more probable that any food that could be causing this maybe-hallucination was drugged since I've eaten the kind of food I had tonight many a times before without seeing any spirits," Howe replied. "Now what are you here for? A reunion? If so, let me assure you that you annoy me as much as ever."

"And you disgust me more than you ever did," Riane shot back. "Honestly, can't you see that you're turning into your grandfather?"

Howe's fists clenched unconsciously. "I see no shame in the comparison, Madame. Despite my grandfather's inability to see that times were changing, he was a good man."

Riane laughed. It was a harsh, ugly sound. "Oh, you _would_ think so, wouldn't you? That explains why you're not as horrified as you should be."

"Enough of this," Howe growled out. "Why are you here?"

"You will do a great deal of harm to a great many people who do not deserve it," Riane said bluntly. "And one of them ended a Blight so the Maker took special notice of the injustice that led to that. I think it would be easier to just kill you but after that whole 'turn the arrogant Tevinter mages into darkspawn' thing, the Maker has decided to try to find less…severe methods of dealing with problems."

"Wait, that's actually true?" Howe asked, surprised. "I thought that was just Chantry propaganda in order to keep people afraid of mages and because Andraste herself sought to bring about the end of the Tevinter strength."

Riane shrugged. "It might be true or I may just be messing with you. You won't find out one way or another until you die…which may not be far off if I'm lucky."

Howe raised an eyebrow. "Won't you have to put up with me a lot more if I die soon?"

"The afterlife is a big place and where _you're_ going I doubt we'll see much of each other," Riane returned. "But anyway-"

"Wait, what's this about a Blight?" Howe interrupted. That sounded serious, particularly if it was going to affect him in any way. He had never fought a darkspawn but he didn't relish having an army of them crawling all over his land…and if he pulled off his Cousland massacre he'd have a lot more land for darkspawn to crawl over.

Riane waved a hand dismissively. "Some time next year a Blight will rise near Ostagar and it will take a year or so for it to be stopped in Denerim. You'll be quite fortunate it can be stopped so easily considering how the great nation of Ferelden does virtually everything it can to prevent this from happening. But enough of that. All that you really need to know is that Grey Wardens really _are_ necessary to stop a Blight and so outlawing them all is a really stupid idea."

"I'll make a note of that," Howe promised. He hated Grey Wardens but if they could fight and end the Blight then their lives would be short, miserable, and actually useful for once. "Now as to why you're here?"

Riane shot him a dirty look. "I'm getting to that. In order to try and get you to change your ways, you will be visited by three spirits. The first is at one, the second at two, and the third at three. There, that's nice and easy enough for even someone as thick as you to be able to remember."

"Fine, fine. Now, if that's all then get out of my bedroom," Howe ordered.

Riane didn't move. "You aren't even going to ask me if you can't get all three ghosts at once or if this can't wait until morning?"

As it happened, Howe thought that it was a much better idea to not have to deal with three ghosts all at once even if it did mean that the whole thing would take longer but he would prefer to do this later so he could get some sleep. Still… "If doing so meant spending more time with you then I honestly don't care what the reasons are. Now OUT!"

"I know when I'm not wanted," Riane said sourly as she slowly rose from the bed and walked right out the door.

Howe stuck his head out after her to see where she'd gone but no one was there.

* * *

Howe's eyes snapped open when a cane hit his bed right next to his head.

"Such disrespect," a terribly familiar voice was complaining. "It wasn't like he wasn't warned. 'Expect the first at one' she said and now it's one but is he awake? Sometimes I wonder where Padric went wrong with that boy. Ah, it's not his fault, I suppose. He was always a bit touched in the head even before he went off to join the Grey Wardens."

"Grandfather," Howe said almost reverently.

"Who else?" Tarleton Howe asked impatiently, looking every bit as ancient and yet lively as he did during life. Riane had died of an illness and so it was unsurprising that she looked unchanged but his grandfather had been hung so Howe was sort of expecting some sort of evidence of this on the ghost. "Now, I don't have all night and, quite frankly, I have better things to do."

"Then why are you here?" Howe inquired curiously.

"Because like it or not I was once the Arl of Amaranthine and the patriarch of the Howe family and I'll be _damned_ if I just sit idly by and watch you destroy us," Tarleton thundered.

Howe thought it was a bit rich that the man who had to be hung as a traitor for not supporting Maric's rebellion was lecturing _him_ about destroying the Howes but knew better than to say anything. "I'll try not to waste your time then," he promised.

"You never _tried_ to waste my time," Tarleton said contrarily. "But you always did. No matter, I appreciate the thought. Now let's go."

"Go where, exactly?" Howe asked. "I told Riane that I'm not following anyone out of a window."

"Of course you wouldn't, that would be a damn fool thing to do," Tarleton agreed. "Touch my hand and we'll be off."

Howe rather doubted it but as he didn't see how doing as his grandfather asked would lead to him dying, he did as requested and was soon blinded by a flash of light.

* * *

"Alright, I don't particularly care for these memories and so I'm going to run through them as fast as I possibly can," Tarleton announced. "That's not a problem, is it?" His tone indicated that it had _better_ not be a problem.

"Of course not," Howe said quickly, having to fight off the urge to call him 'sir.'

"Then watch closely or you might miss something," Tarleton instructed, gesturing to behind Howe.

Howe turned around to see his father and mother smiling happily down at what he was fairly certain was a young him. He cast his mind back, trying to remember when this was. Just as he thought he might have something, the scene changed abruptly. At least his grandfather had warned him that he was planning on doing that.

There was his father again with an older him. Unlike before, Howe knew _exactly_ when this was.

"Merry Christmas, Father!" young Rendon said happily, beaming up at his father.

"Merry Christmas, Rendon," Padric said, his own smile rather wistful.

Even at that tender age, Rendon was not an idiot. "What's wrong?"

Padric shook his head. "Nothing's wrong, it's just…hang it all, you'll have to find out sometime."

"Find out w-what?" Rendon asked, swallowing nervously.

"Find out that your father loves adventure and Orlesians more than he loves you," Howe spat.

"Don't sulk," Tarleton said idly.

"I have to go away for awhile," Padric said gently. "I'm going to go off and be a Grey Warden. Since they were exiled from Ferelden almost two hundred ago, I'll need to go to Orlais to join up."

"Does this mean you don't love me anymore?" Rendon asked tearfully, his voice cracking slightly.

Padric knelt down and gave his son a tight hug. "No! I could _never_ stop loving you, my son. I'll write and then come back and visit whenever I can…or maybe you could come visit me when you're older."

"But-but what will happen to mother and I after you're gone?" Rendon demanded.

"Your grandfather will look after you both," Padric promised.

"Don't go!" Rendon begged him.

Padric looked pained. "I'm sorry."

" 'Sorry', he says," Howe muttered. "Right. If he were so sodding sorry then why was that the last time I ever saw him?"

"Your father just wasn't any good," Tarleton declared. "I guess this explains why you hate Christmas so much, though."

"What?" Howe asked, surprised. "I don't hate Christmas, I just…don't particularly care about it one way or another. It's an Orlesian holiday, anyway."

"Whatever you say," Tarleton said, sounding like he didn't believe him. "And just so you know, you sounded just like Loghain when you said that. I suppose that makes sense given that…but you'll find out soon enough."

"Given _what_?" Howe demanded as the scene changed again but Tarleton didn't respond.

"Bryce Cousland," a far younger version of the current Teyrn of Highever introduced with a grin and a proffered hand.

"Rendon Howe," Rendon said curtly as he shook Bryce's hand.

Bryce's eyebrows rose. "Howe? But isn't your Arling supporting the _occupation_?" The word sounded dirty and vile the way Cousland said it.

Rendon couldn't stop a small wince. "My grandfather does, yes, but I cannot. I don't know if this Maric can really pull this off but it looks like we've got about as good a chance as we ever did. Besides, we really do deserve more than to have some poncy Orlesian noblemen telling us how to rule our land."

Bryce's grin became an approving smile. "I couldn't agree more. You know, I think we're going to get along just fine."

"Oh, you two 'got along' all right," Tarleton grumbled. "You got along and abandoned your family just as surely as your father did."

Howe flinched. "Don't say that!" he shouted. "We were on different sides and I couldn't stop it but I _never_ turned my back on our family or on Amaranthine!"

"Oh no?" Tarleton asked dryly. "Next memory."

This time the scene was of Bryce pacing and looking very much like he was dreading something. The door slammed open and Bryce sighed in resignation.

"How could you?" Rendon demanded, his eyes wild. "Of all the…I thought we were friends!"

"We _are_ friends," Bryce insisted. "This isn't about that. You know I wouldn't have done it if there had been any other choice."

Rendon laughed incredulously. "Do you _really_ mean to tell me that you had 'no choice' about publically executing an eighty-seven-year-old man? That's absurd."

"He wouldn't surrender the Arling," Bryce said, keeping calm with visible effort. "And you know just how much we need Amaranthine. You're his heir and you support the rebellion. It had to be done."

"He had to be removed from the Arling, yes," Rendon conceded grudgingly. "But that could have easily been done without killing him! You know that this is the man that raised me after my own father up and abandoned us for Orlais. To have him meet such an ignoble end…he deserved better."

"I'm sorry," Bryce said, sounding sincere if nothing else. "We couldn't afford to risk it. The rebellion is fragile enough as it is and if he could rally the people to him then-"

"By the Maker, Bryce, the man was nearly ninety! He couldn't walk briskly without assistance!" Rendon cut him off.

"I'm sorry," Bryce said again.

Rendon shot him a look of disgust and stormed out.

"Oh, it's all well and good to get sentimental about me _after_ the deed's been done and the Arling is yours," Tarleton said, his tone every bit as disgusted as Rendon had been back there. The scene changed again.

"And this lovely battle-maiden is my betrothed, Eleanor," Bryce told Rendon proudly. He could barely take his eyes off of her.

Rendon could hardly blame him. He hadn't known it was possible for someone to be that beautiful. "How do you do, my lady?" he asked once he'd found his voice.

Eleanor smiled. "How do you do…Arl Howe, was it?"

As had always been the case when he'd heard those words, Rendon felt a simultaneous burst of pride and resentment at the title and it flashed briefly across his face before he smiled. "Indeed. So tell me, Bryce, how ever did you manage to convince such a lovely lady to marry you?"

"He always gets _everything_," Howe seethed.

"You sound like a child," Tarleton sniffed.

The scene changed again.

"Oh, just what I wanted to see," Tarleton grumbled. "The Cousland's wedding."

"It's not like I want to see it either," Howe protested. "I'm not the one controlling this."

"No," Tarleton allowed. "But it's your life we're following and you were the one standing up as best man all the while wishing that it could have been you in Bryce Cousland's place."

"If you don't want to see the wedding then I recommend moving to the next memory," Howe advised shortly.

Tarleton nodded and the scene changed.

There was Riane, looking every bit as put-upon and unimpressed as she had in life. "Rendon Howe, I presume?"

Rendon had nodded nervously. "I am. You are Lady Riane?"

"Obviously," Riane said, her voice dripping with disdain. "Your predecessor was a collaborator."

Rendon's knuckles whitened. "I was not."

Riane's eyebrows were raised skeptically. "We shall see."

Tarleton began tapping his foot impatiently.

Howe, grateful for the distraction, turned to him. "What's the matter?"

"I'm bored," Tarleton complained.

"I'm sorry?" Howe said for lack of a better response.

"Here's the thing: we've only gotten through a little less than half of the memories I was supposed to show you. We could keep going if you want but I think that you've really grasped the point by now," Tarleton told him. "So if you'd like, we can just stop." That was one of the nice things about his grandfather: he always got right to the point instead of dragging things out unnecessarily.

"Stopping sounds good," Howe agreed. Those memories were mostly unpleasant anyway. "But I really don't get the point of all of that."

"I was supposed to remind you of who you used to be and how events in your life shaped you into the man you are today," Tarleton explained.

"Oh. Well, it's not like I ever didn't know how I became the me I am today," Howe declared. "So stopping sounds good."

"Thank the Maker," Tarleton said, relieved. "Now touch my hand and you'll be back in bed, asleep."

Howe did so.

* * *

"Arl Howe?" a soft voice called out.

Howe opened his eyes slowly, realizing that this was probably his next ghostly visitor and not really wanting to deal with whoever it was, particularly if his new visitor was anything like the previous two. Still, they were unlikely to just give up and go away just because he wasn't pleased to see them and so he might as well face this and try to salvage as much of the night as he could for sleeping. It was really a good thing that the next day was Christmas and he wasn't expected to wake up any time before noon.

Howe froze in surprise when he saw who the next ghost was, despite the fact that the first two had obviously been dead as well. "_Maric_."

King Maric smiled. "Hello, Howe."

"Why are you here?" Howe asked, stunned.

"I've always been fond of the Couslands-" Maric started to say.

"Of _course_ you have," Howe muttered darkly.

Maric gave him a pointed look. "**And** of the Howes. I really don't think that this plot of yours is to your own advantage either."

"And just how do you propose to show me that?" Howe challenged.

"I don't," Maric replied simply. "That is for the final spirit. I am here to show you the lives of the people you know and love right now. Well, right now it's two in the morning and so most of them are asleep so technically I'll be showing you them tomorrow."

"You know, if I wanted to see what these people would be up to tomorrow, I'd go see them in person," Howe claimed.

"Does this mean that you don't have any requests about where we go?" Maric asked him.

"If I had it my way we wouldn't be going anywhere at all," Howe confirmed.

"Well…we have to go somewhere," Maric reasoned. He brightened. "I know! Let's go check in on my family since you don't want to see your own." He grabbed Howe's hand and there was a flash of light.

King Cailan, Queen Anora, and Teyrn Loghain were in a small room in the palace, probably a study.

"Christmas always reminds me of our friends in Orlais," Cailan said dreamily.

"I find that I must agree," Loghain said rather sourly. "It is such an _Orlesian_ holiday, why must we celebrate it? No one in Ferelden celebrated it before the occupation. It's just one more bit of them that we can't get out of our nation."

"I understand that you feel that way, Father," Anora said patiently. "But despite its origins Christmas is very important to the well-being and stability of Ferelden."

"Everyone likes presents," Cailan agreed. "I wonder what Celene is getting me…"

"Are you on a first-name basis with the Empress of Orlais?" Loghain demanded. "Oh, honestly!"

"What?" Cailan asked, confused. "Our arguments with Orlais are in the past, Loghain. I know that you find this concept a little difficult to grasp but it was nearly thirty years ago! Before Anora and I were even born! There is such a thing as holding onto a grudge for too long and you are the living proof."

"Oh, are you acknowledging that we _were_ occupied for eighty years of brutal Orlesian rule today?" Loghain asked archly.

"Cailan, Father, please!" Anora cried, looking a little annoyed.

"Do tell me how this 'Christmas' is good for the people of Ferelden," Loghain prompted her.

"In addition to the fact that everyone needs a Christmas tree and they all want that tree to be from Gwaren thus enriching the teynir, Christmas is a huge economy stimulator between all the presents, decorations, and feasts," Anora told him. "When enough time passes, no one will even remember that it was originally an Orlesian celebration anyway."

"Christmas was an Orlesian celebration?" Cailan asked, blinking.

Loghain stared at Cailan for a full minute. "I don't know whether to be relieved that the populace is already forgetting that or disturbed that our king had no idea about that."

"As its Christmas, I'd suggest going with the former," Anora advised.

Maric covered his face with his hand.

"And just like that I remember why I wanted Bryce Cousland to rule Ferelden instead," Howe remarked.

"It's really not _that_ bad," Maric claimed. "I mean, he lost his mother too early and I never spent enough time with him and…at least he has Anora and Loghain. They'd never steer him wrong. Well…unless you count what happens at Ostagar but I firmly believe that nothing more could have been done."

"Ostagar," Howe repeated. "That's where the Blight will be next year. Are you saying that Cailan's going to fall from power?" There was an opportunity there.

"I can't really talk about that…" Maric told him. "Maybe I should see if I can find a way to get into contact with Loghain. Hey, could you deliver a message to him for me?"

"That depends on what the message is and whether or not I can think of a way to explain it without making him think I've gone mad," Howe answered honestly.

"I'm just _really_ concerned by my son's interest in the Empress Celene. He should probably look into that and keep the boy away from Eamon," Maric advised.

"I'll see what I can do," Howe told him. "Now is that all or-"

"It's not all," Maric interrupted. "We've only been to one place. Why don't we look in on your family?"

It sounded like a question but somehow Howe knew that they were going to be doing just that no matter what he might have thought about it. "Lead on," he said tiredly.

The scene changed and suddenly he saw Delilah and Thomas sitting around a small table in a room that looked vaguely familiar. "Is that part of the Keep?"

"It's the kitchen, yes," Maric said, looking surprised that Howe didn't know that already.

"Let's not eat just yet," Thomas implored. "We have to wait for Father."

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, dear brother, but I'm nearly positive that Father's forgotten about us. Again," Delilah said softly.

"But…it's _Christmas_!" Thomas cried out.

"There was a Christmas last year and the year before that," Delilah pointed out. "And he didn't spend the day with us then. In fact, we haven't celebrated a proper Christmas since Nathaniel left."

"He always was the favorite, wasn't he?" Thomas asked rhetorically. "It really makes you wonder why Father sent him out of the country."

"I don't really think I want to know," Delilah said, shuddering a little.

"You're always so cynical, Delilah," Thomas complained. "Come on, this is _Father_. What's the worst he could possibly do?"

"I don't know," Delilah confessed. "Lately it feels like I don't know him at all anymore…"

Thomas looked at clock. "Well…can we at least wait until the hour to start eating? Maybe he'll have come down by then."

Delilah gave him a sad smile. "Alright, Thomas. We can wait another half an hour."

"I don't show up by then, do I?" Howe asked.

Maric shook his head. "No, indeed. You don't put in an appearance all day and Thomas is very upset about it. At least Delilah is there to comfort him. She's a very smart girl."

"Meh," Howe said noncommittally. "So now that we've checked in on my family and discovered that they honestly have nothing better to do than to wait on me to appear, are we done?"

"We haven't checked on _all_ of your family yet," Maric protested. "What about Nathaniel?"

"What _about_ Nathaniel?" Howe asked innocently.

Maric just sighed and the scene changed.

"I don't know about you but I absolutely _love_ Christmas!" a young woman was exclaiming brightly.

"I've always been a bit wary of its Orlesian roots," Nathaniel began, "but I will concede that I've come to appreciate its charms in the last few years."

"And if you hadn't then I would have absolutely made you love Christmas about half as much as I do," the woman assured him.

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. "Only half?"

"Bethany says that it's not actually healthy to love Christmas as much as I do," the woman confided. "And since she's a healer so she knows these things."

"And what makes you so sure that if I hadn't developed an appreciation for Christmas that you would have been able to change my mind?" Nathaniel asked with a teasing grin.

The woman struck a dramatic pose. "Because I, my dear Nathaniel, am Aurelia Hawke and I can do anything!"

"It's good to see that your rising fame isn't going to your head," Nathaniel deadpanned.

"Varric says that it's inspiring how level-headed I am," Aurelia said modestly.

"It's good to see that his regard for the truth is as high as ever," Nathaniel said dryly.

"It is, isn't it?" Aurelia agreed. "Now come on, we're going to be late for meeting the others and Isabela said that the last one to show up has to pay and I'd really hate to have to foist the bill on you."

"…And why would you feel the need to do that?" Nathaniel asked her. "You have more money than anyone except maybe Varric and Isabela."

"Yeah, but that's _my_ money," Aurelia explained. "It's for me to have kind of as a collection and occasionally blow on really expensive items that I probably don't need but have fallen in love with just the same. I don't want to have to spend it on my _friends_."

"You're a giver," Nathaniel quipped.

Aurelia laughed. "And don't I know it." She peered closely at him. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Nathaniel winced. "Am I that transparent?"

Aurelia chose not to answer that.

Nathaniel sighed and ran his fingers through his long hair. "It's just…I miss Ferelden. I miss Amaranthine."

"Your dad still won't let you come home?" Aurelia asked sympathetically. "How many years has it been?"

"Too damn many," Nathaniel said grimly. "I'm just not quite sure what I've done wrong. Why doesn't he want me anywhere near him?"

"I'm sure it's not you," Aurelia said loyally. "It's probably just his issues. You're absolutely great and you know that we all love you. You can stay with us for as long as you need to."

Nathaniel managed a small smile. "Thank you. It's nice not to have to be alone on Christmas."

"This is one of his friends in Kirkwall?" Howe asked distastefully. "Is he sleeping with her?"

Maric practically choked. "What a question!"

"Well, is he? I'm not sure that I approve," Howe said, frowning. "Where does she even get off telling me that I have issues? She's never even met me!"

"I'm sure that's none of my business," Maric said delicately. "And she was probably just trying to make Nathaniel feel better. Why _don't_ you let him come back anyway?"

"Nathaniel's too much of an idealist," Howe explained. "And the events that are shaping up are really not the kind of thing he's well-suited for. It's for his own good, really, but obviously I can't actually _tell_ him that. Now that we've seen how my eldest son has far more of a life than my younger children even if he really should find some more appropriate friends, are we done here?"

Maric looked a little awkward. "About that…"

"What?" Howe demanded, finding himself suddenly filled with trepidation.

"I'm not actually allowed to leave you until we go see the Couslands," Maric revealed. "It wasn't my idea, believe me, but rules are rules…"

Howe sighed. The _last_ thing he wanted to see just then was the perfect Couslands with their perfect family in their perfect castle having their perfect Christmas when he himself had far less than he deserved on all fronts, even if he didn't particularly care about that last one. "Fine…" he said, resigned. If nothing else, maybe this would help convince him to do what he felt must be done.

The scene changed. The Couslands were seated at a very large, crowded table and there was food and decorations everywhere.

"So Arl Howe couldn't make it again this year?" Eleanor was asking.

Bryce sighed. "Indeed not. Still, we'll try again next year. One of these days he'll accept my invitation, I just know it."

"Why do you keep bothering with him?" one of the guests asked. "He's rather obnoxious, don't you think?"

"No, I _don't_ think," Bryce said severely. "Arl Rendon Howe is a good man and a valued friend."

"Feeling guilty?" Maric asked hopefully.

"Not particularly," Howe said flatly. "He's probably just using me to make himself feel better. I know that if I had all of his blessings and he had all of mine then I'd keep him around so I could constantly be reminded of how much better I was than him."

"It hasn't occurred to you that he might just be a good person who genuinely likes you?" Maric inquired.

"Oh no, it has," Howe corrected him. "I just dismissed that possibility as highly unlikely."

"I like him," little Oren declared. "He has a funny nose!"

"Oren!" Oriana cried out, half-laughing, half-horrified.

"Well he does," Oren pouted. "And didn't you and father say that we should always be honest?"

"Well, until you're old enough to realize what should and should not be said in front of company than yes," Fergus agreed. "For all that it might embarrass us, we don't want a pathological liar in the family. Well, a pathological liar besides Anastasia."

"Fergus!" Anastasia exclaimed, swatting him playfully on the arm.

"Ow!" Fergus clutched at the spot where she had smacked him and pretended to be wounded. "Did you see that, Oren?"

"Yeah, hitting isn't nice Auntie Anastasia," Oren told her seriously.

Anastasia winced. "Don't call me Auntie."

"But you _are_ my Auntie," Oren said, sounding like he'd had this same conversation with her many times before.

Anastasia rolled her eyes. "Oh, never mind. You'll understand soon enough anyway."

"You hear that, 'Auntie'?" Fergus teased smugly. "Hitting is bad, you know."

Anastasia made a face at him.

"You know, I'm actually kind of worried about him," Bryce confessed. "He's been so withdrawn lately. I do wonder if anything's the matter."

"Have you tried talking to Howe himself about it?" Eleanor asked, biting her lip in what appeared to be honest concern.

Bryce nodded. "A few times, yes, but I always get the same answer. 'Everything's fine, Bryce', 'I'm just a little tired, Bryce.' That was one of the reasons I was hoping this year he'd actually accept my invitation."

"Well, you know Howe," Eleanor remarked. "He's never been all that fond of Christmas."

"Still, I think I'll write to him in the morning," Bryce decided.

"_Still_ not feeling guilty?" Maric pressed.

"Feeling guilty for what?" Howe asked rhetorically. "I haven't done anything."

"No, but you're plotting to kill them all," Maric reminded him. "And they do clearly care about you."

"So they say and nothing decided yet," Howe retorted. "Besides, if that information I found is interpreted in the right way then getting them out of the way would be outright patriotic."

Maric shook his head in exasperation. "You _know_ that it's not true."

"I know nothing of the sort," Howe claimed.

"I-" Maric started to say but he jolted. "Damn."

"What?" Howe asked a little nervously. Whatever problems Maric was having might affect him.

"I'm sorry but my time is going to be up in less than a minute," Maric apologized. "I don't have time to get you back to your Keep but the final spirit should be able to do that once he's done."

"You can't just leave me here!" Howe protested.

Maric was already translucent and continuing to fade from sight. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I really hope you do the right thing and deliver that message to Log-"

He was gone.

"Maric always did have a problem with punctuality," a distinctly familiar voice noted.

Howe's eyes widened as he saw someone that looked suspiciously like him materialize in Maric's spot.

"W-what?" he cried, startled.

The new ghost smirked. "You look like you've just seen the ghost of your future self." He paused. "Hm, I suppose that's not too surprising all things considered."

"You're me?" Howe asked, just to make sure.

The future Rendon Howe rolled his eyes. "I did just say that, didn't I?"

"But…you're dead," Howe protested.

"Everyone dies at some point," Rendon said dismissively. "Although you don't necessarily _have_ to die in the next two years if you could just manage to avoid a few…missteps, shall we say and that's what I'm here to do. Unlike Maric, I don't expect you to really feel guilty for any of this or to want to 'change your ways' and become a better person."

"Then what do you expect?" Howe asked curiously.

"Excellent question," Rendon said approvingly. "I _expect_ you to see what a mess the future is and do what is necessary to avoid it. This first scene is my death, hopefully not your death as well."

Suddenly the pair were standing in what appeared to be a dungeon although it wasn't any dungeon Howe had ever stepped foot in. There was a third Howe lying on the floor, bleeding heavily from a stomach wound.

Anastasia Cousland, her dog, and a boy that looked a great deal like Cailan stood before him with an assortment of other people (many of them not even human) standing further back to give them a little privacy.

"Maker spit on you!" dying-Howe snarled. "I deserved more!"

Anastasia laughed at him, a far harsher sound than he'd ever heard her make. "That depends on what you mean by 'more', doesn't it? You obviously mean that you deserve better but I think that even this death is too good for you. It's the death your men gave my father, after all. Still, as long as you die I suppose I must be satisfied."

"Killing me won't bring back your traitor parents or worthless nephew, you know," dying-Howe coughed out.

"It won't," Anastasia acknowledged. "But it's my duty all the same."

"Are you okay?" the Cailan-esque man asked hesitantly.

Anastasia nodded. "Of course. Now let's get out of here before I start hacking him to pieces."

Howe drew back. "She wants to hack me into pieces?"

"She doesn't," Rendon assured him. "There is a rumor that goes around that she does, however. There must have been a hidden witness somewhere who heard her say that."

"I can't believe that that little girl managed to _kill _me," Howe marveled, shaking his head. "I mean, she had a golem with her, I suppose, but _still_."

"She didn't even really need the golem," Rendon admitted, looking rather embarrassed. "She was better than I expected and rather motivated. Having her family massacred would do the trick, I suppose."

"So what happened? I had her family killed and then…what? She quickly kills me? And how does she survive?" Howe demanded.

"I'm not sure how she managed to escape," Rendon confessed. "I think that Grey Warden who just happened to be staying at the castle might have helped. She becomes a Grey Warden, you become the Teyrn of Highever as well as Arl of Denerim, and eventually she kills you in the dungeon of the Arl of Denerim's estate."

"What happens to her then? Does she get arrested?" Howe asked angrily.

"For about an hour before she and Maric's bastard break out of Fort Drakon," Rendon replied. "And as for the nobility…well, listen to this."

Suddenly they were at the Gnawed Noble Tavern in Denerim.

"Have you heard the news about Howe?" Ceorlic gossiped.

"Everyone in the city has. Bryland must be pleased," Sighard remarked.

"That half-blood is as cold as the mountains," Ceorlic said reprovingly. "Did they not serve together in the war?"

"Oh, I can hardly speak ill of the sense or conscience of any man simply for wishing Rendon Howe dead. You've met him. The man made vipers seem personable," Sighard said dryly.

"Hmph. Well, I-I didn't say I was shedding any tears over his passing. He never was any friend of mine," Ceorlic quickly backtracked.

"Besides, Bryland was kinsman to Eleanor Cousland and we all know that he was behind her death," Sighard continued. "What my sister ever saw in his Arling, I'll never understand."

"Speaking of, they say that Anastasia Cousland was the one to actually kill him," Ceorlic said conspiratorially. "Do you think it's true?"

"I could believe that she ended him but do I believe that she hacked him into pieces for hours while he yet lived?" Sighard asked rhetorically. "I think not. I haven't seen her in a few years but her parents would have raised her better than that."

"What do you think is going to happen to his collection of titles?" Ceorlic asked eagerly.

"Well that I think depends on who wins the Landsmeet tomorrow," Sighard said reasonably. "I wouldn't be at all surprised if Highever goes back to the Couslands. Still, Amaranthine and Denerim are up for grabs."

"It's nice to be appreciated," Rendon said rhetorically. "And it's not like Sighard grew any fonder of me when he found out what I did to his son…"

"So I'm to be murdered in my own home and nobody even cares," Howe said bitterly. "Oh, I really wish I could say that I was surprised. And even _this_ can be traced back to the Couslands!"

"It gets worse," Rendon said grimly.

Howe groaned. "How much worse?"

"I won't show you all of it as it's just too enraging but…" Rendon trailed off.

Anastasia stood before them in the crowded Landsmeet chamber. "Alistair will take his father's throne and I shall rule besides him."

"You will?" Maric's bastard – apparently Alistair – asked, stunned. He cleared his throat. "I mean, she will! Definitely."

The scene faded.

"I think I just threw up a little in my mouth," Howe complained, disgusted.

"I know the feeling," Rendon agreed, the look on his face pretty much identical to the one Howe was sure that he had. "And did I mention that they're disgustingly happy together and rule over a golden age? Plus her brother wasn't even dead so he retook Highever. As for Amaranthine…"

"What happens to Amaranthine?" Howe asked fearfully.

"I don't even have the words to describe it," Rendon said and suddenly they were standing in the Keep's throne room. Virtually every inch of the room was covered in some sort of Christmas-y decoration. "I know," he said. "It's very tacky."

Anastasia was seated in the throne and that made Howe's blood almost boil over and Varel was standing beside her. What would it take to get rid of that man?

"It's not _enough_ that she's the Queen of Ferelden?" Howe raged. "She has to take Amaranthine, too?"

"Technically, Amaranthine belongs to the Grey Wardens," Rendon explained. "And for awhile she was the Warden-Commander. I actually would have preferred the Orlesian that was going to be sent if Anastasia didn't take the job for awhile but at least when she left Nathaniel took over. On the other hand…"

"Let me guess, it gets worse," Howe said sarcastically.

"Oh so very much worse," Rendon agreed. He pointed. "Look."

Howe turned to see his eldest son on bended knee in front of some half-dressed elf with a mage's staff and stupid-looking tattoos on her face.

"Will you marry me?" he asked nervously.

The elf looked pained. "I never thought I'd see the day when a stupid shem would propose to me but…yes, yes I will."

Howe started screaming then and he didn't stop until that horrible scene faded away.

"I know," Rendon soothed him. "Trust me, I know. Still, could you try to cut that out? You're giving me a headache."

"Future-me…I have to know," Howe said desperately. "What was the point of all of this? Are these the things that are going to happen or just the things that _might_ happen if I massacre the Couslands? Can I avoid this? Can I stop Anastasia Cousland from stealing my Arling and my son from marrying an elven whore?"

Rendon rolled his eyes. "If you couldn't change the future then what would be the point in us showing it to you? I don't know if you can stop Anastasia from becoming queen but without the massacre there's no need to take your Arling…but you might want to distance yourself from the slavers, maybe blame Vaughan."

"Slavers? What slavers?" Howe asked blankly.

"Oh, you'll see," Rendon said vaguely. "Seriously, as tempted as you might be to lock Vaughan up and fake his death to steal his Arling, don't. Instead, ally with him and blame him for locking up and torturing that templar and that noble as well. He'd make a wonderful scapegoat, much as I did once Anastasia started feeling guilty for stealing Teyrna Anora's throne and she decided to work to restore Loghain's name."

"I won't allow any of that to happen!" Howe promised. "And if that means that the Couslands don't die then I suppose I can live with it."

"That's the spirit," Rendon said cheerfully. "And if nothing else, there's every chance they'll die at Ostagar or in the civil war that follows. Remember: scapegoat!"

* * *

Howe's eyes snapped open. That had been the most horrible nightmare he'd ever had and the worst part was the he really doubted that it had just been a nightmare.

He knew what he had to do. He had gone to bed mostly convinced to massacre the Couslands but now he knew that if he did that his life would be basically forfeit since that girl of Bryce's just wouldn't die. And he needed to get Nathaniel home straightaway before he could meet any elven whores he might fancy himself in love with. He couldn't send a letter today, of course, but that would be the first thing he did come tomorrow. And he really should think about appreciating Varel more; the man clearly knew how to keep his head above the water no matter what was happening to anyone else and that would be a useful skill to learn.

Since he was no longer planning the destruction of the Couslands, he supposed it was back to trying to stay on their good side so he might as well head to Highever after all.

He hurriedly dressed and went downstairs to get a horse to take him to the Couslands' castle.

"Father!" Thomas cried out, happily. "I knew you'd get here soon!"

Delilah looked surprised but said nothing.

Howe had honestly forgotten all about them (and for that matter, hadn't thought to ask future-him about their fates but he was sure they couldn't have ended up as misguided as Nathaniel) but he was not about to have his children sitting around pathetically waiting on him. That kind of neglect might get them interested in elves, after all.

"Come, we are going to the Couslands," he said curtly.

Really, his two youngest children looked far too thrilled for such a simple invitation.

* * *

"So Arl Howe couldn't make it again this year?" Eleanor was asking as Howe and his two present children were shown into the dining hall.

"I could, actually, but I beg your pardon for arriving so late," Howe spoke up.

"Joy," one of the guests muttered darkly. Howe thought perhaps that that was the same guest who had wanted to know why Bryce wasted his time with him. He would certainly bear watching.

"Oh, it's no trouble at all," Bryce said, getting to his feet and gesturing them over. "We're glad to have you. I had been led to believe you weren't coming?"

"I wasn't feeling well yesterday but I've well and truly recovered and it _is_ Christmas so my children and I decided to make the journey anyway," Howe lied smoothly.

"I'm glad that you could make it, Arl Howe," Anastasia said warmly before beckoning Delilah to come sit by her.

Howe made sure to smile at her and he was reasonably sure that it looked sincere. Oh, she had better be glad to see him, especially if she was going to end up Queen in the future. He had learned quite a bit last night even if it might not have been the lesson Maric would have liked him to learn and so he'd need to consider his future plans quite carefully.

After all, he really did deserve more and he had every intention of getting it.

Note: So I know that there's no way Howe could get from Amaranthine to Highever in a few hours but it's dramatic license.

Review Please!


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